an ideal ending
by not a straight trumpet
Summary: Somewhat of an alternate take on the events of 3x16.


**a/n:** i wrote this before 3x16 and promised myself that I wouldn't change it no matter what happened

so here it is

* * *

Clarke was dead.

 _(Clarke was dying)_

The world spun, blurred and pale as she slowly slipped from consciousness with Lexa's voice screaming in her ear to keep going - _"hold on my love, don't die, don't die"_ \- but Clarke hardly registered it - what did it matter? _"Your people need you."_

 _They did,_ Clarke wanted to say, but she was barely staying awake as it was, so she didn't dare waste her breath. _They don't anymore,_ she wanted to yell to the heavens. _Screw my people,_ Clarke truly wished to whisper into Lexa's soft neck as she breathed in her scent, tree bark and coppery blood stained on her armor, candle wax and violets, everything that made up the girl she loved. _Maybe the great Wanheda can do something other than bring death and destruction. Maybe I want to be selfish. Maybe I want_ you. Lexa staggered down the rain-soaked stairs, her breath coming in ragged gasps, clearly exhausted from carrying Clarke throughout that damnable false city. Clarke could hear her faintly mutter a string of what could only have been swear words in Trigedasleng as she looked back to see a even larger army of footsoldiers racing towards the two of them.

"Leave me," Clarke finally managed to croak.

"Never," Lexa growled. "You _will_ return to your people, you _will_ escape this place. I would die before letting them get you." Clarke let out a pained chuckle, despite the situation.

"You're already dead, Lexa." Lexa didn't seem impressed.

"If you have the strength to tell jokes, you have the strength to walk. There's a building over there, we can barricade the door. _Run,_ Clarke!" Without another word, Lexa grabbed Clarke's hand and headed for the building in question, refusing to stop until she had slammed the heavy glass door and shoved several chairs against it.

"Lexa . . ."

"Clarke? What is it?"

"I won't . . . I won't forget about you if we destroy this place, right?"

"Well . . ."

"And you'll still be sort of alive, right? Ontari, she's brain-dead, so we can just give her the flame and she'll just be you in a new body, right?" Clarke's conscience gnawed at her as she tried to find a resolution - it was glaringly obvious that the "right" thing, the _"good"_ thing, was to destroy the city and to never look back, to leave it all behind, to leave 'Lexa' behind - and return to her life of blame and regret and painful decisions. The idea of Lexa still being around in some way, at least, might make the thought easier to stomach. Lexa spoke up after a moment of deliberation.

"I can't promise you that, Clarke."

"What?"

"I still know little of this place, so it is unclear as to whether you'll forget me when you return to your world."

"You're hesitating. You know more than you're letting on, don't you?" It dimly occurred to Clarke that it was difficult to be intimidating when she was just about ready to pass out on the cool tile floor, barely even able to stand, but Lexa flinched regardless. "You won't be able to stay in the flame, will you?"

"Clarke, you can't-"

" _Forget_ my people, Lexa, I'm not leaving-" A sharp pain cut through Clarke's abdomen as she inadvertently fell to her knees.

"Clarke? Clarke, can you hear me?"

"I'll . . . I'll meet up with you later, Lexa."

"What? Clarke, why would I leave you here?" Lexa was frenzied, now, pacing back and forth with her boots _clip-clopping_ against the floor. "If you die here, you'll be destroyed along with the rest of-" Lexa stopped mid-sentence. Clarke stepped back, her eyes widened in shock.

"That's why you wouldn't tell me, then?"

"I won't let you die, Clarke."

"And _I_ won't let you fade out of existence, alright?" Lexa's gaze softened, and Clarke wondered what she was thinking, what turmoil was held behind those green eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" Lexa whispered.

"Of course."

"Then, I suppose we should get going before the woman in the red dress brings the end to both our people."

* * *

The city was crumbling. That was Clarke's first thought upon seeing ALIE's computers destroyed, the people in trenchcoats flickering back to reality as buildings toppled.

"You can still go back," Lexa murmured.

"To hell with that," Clarke replied, tightening her grip on Lexa's calloused hands. "I'm staying here." The city was all but rubble now, white lights eating away anything that was left. Clarke knew that she, too, was part of the city now, as was Lexa, but an eternity as stardust did not scare her. Nothing did, not when she was wrapped in Lexa's arms with the light, such beautiful light, engulfing the two of them until the last thing Clarke saw was Lexa's face, gentle and understanding, before everything disappeared in one brilliant blast.

* * *

 _march 3rd, 2316_

There was a statue of two teenage girls in the city circle, but people rarely paid it any attention save for the occasional history lover or elderly person claiming to be direct descendants of the great heroes, retelling stories that every child had already seen in their history books. _'The Battle for Free Will,' that was what they called it,_ the girl recalled as she passed by the statue on her way to the coffeeshop with a dark blue backpack hanging off of her shoulder. She paused to look up at it - there was something pained in the girls' eyes, perhaps the desire for a life they could never have lived, a life of peace and safety and love. The sky and the ground, destined to meet and fall apart and meet again, only to lose each other once more, their story ending in tragedy. The girl at the foot of the statue scoffed.

 _Great,_ she thought. _I'm getting sentimental over a sappy love story like a little kid. Must be the morning, I'm probably not awake yet or something._ She absentmindedly waved to the statue, a small, strange gesture that felt necessary for reasons unknown to the girl, before going on her way.

The coffeeshop had just opened, the girl noted. That had to be the reason why only one other person was there, at least. The barista's green eyes flashed with recognition as she began to speak up in a gravelly, regal tone that seemed unfitting for the situation.

"You're the one who fought three hundred students in a line for free coffee." Her nametag was practically illegible, scrawled in loopy, elegant writing that the girl with the backpack could barely make out. There might have been an _L_ somewhere, but she couldn't be sure. The barista propped her elbows up on the table as if awaiting a response.

"You're the one who put it there in the first place." Something important was happening, the backpack girl thought. "So . . . _Alexandria_ , huh?" The barista let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"My parents thought that it would be . . . charming, I suppose, to name their daughter after a town from the old world. You could call them history fanatics, really, obsessed with the stories and all that. They were overjoyed when they heard that I would be working within sight of the statue out there."

"I've always sorta liked them, too, to be honest. Those two girls sounded pretty badass."

"Yeah." Something important was happening.

"Hey, would you want to go out for ice cream or something sometime? I think I've seen you around campus, so it'd be nice to get to know you better and . . ." Some kind of wrong was being righted, somehow.

"It's a date." Alexandria took the backpack girl's hand into her own and shook it vigorously.

"I'm Clarke, by the way."

The stars, it seemed, had aligned once more.


End file.
